


Hellfire / Heaven's Light

by TheJoysOfAMultishipper (Amemah)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky the Make-Up Artist, F/M, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amemah/pseuds/TheJoysOfAMultishipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Is ‘hamster’ a common insult nowadays?” James whispered to Sam, who was also glued to the spot, watching as the woman argued with the assistant, and the assistant called for security. They seemed reluctant to incapacitate her because she was so obviously not a threat, and also, she’d worked in the building for a year. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>James has a crush, is sympathetic to women in politics, gives relationship advice, and meets his soulmate - all in his quest to become a fully functioning member of society. Of course, it's a bit more complicated than that, but at least no one got kidnapped. Someone was almost killed, like, years ago though, but that doesn't count. </p><p>--</p><p>COMPLETE<br/>19/06-2016: I've updated the chapters and fixed the mistakes I've found. If you've already read this, don't worry; the changes were just a few clarifications and cleaning up the text a little. Also, I added a few sentences here and there so the ending isn't a complete shock! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kapittel 1 - Angelic Cheekbones and Metal Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Okay, I'm excited about this one! This my first multi-chapter fic, and as you saw in the summary, it is finished! I'll update it once a day, just so I have time to edit a few bits and pieces, but there's no need to worry about it being abandoned at any point. So that's nice!
> 
> I have to thank my wonderful and amazing friend, [Devi](http://devidlg.tumblr.com/), for being so amazing! She is a perfect mixture of beta, cheerleader and all around awesome human being, and this fic would not be finished without her. I don't think I can thank her enough for helping me, but I like to think she understands how grateful I am anyway <3
> 
> So! I worked hard on this fic, and I'd really appreciate it if you let me know what you think of it? I love reading your comments, and they always make so happy :)
> 
> Lots of hugs from me, and thank you for sticking with my work to all of you who come back, fic after fic. I see you all! And if there's anyone new here; welcome! And don't be afraid to come talk to me on [Tumblr! !](http://thejoysofamultishipper.tumblr.com/)
> 
> <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To say James had been fragile when Steve and Sam first brought him back was a bit of an understatement. Steve would later describe him as, “A fucking mess, but there has never been a man who looked more attractive after five weeks of no showers.”

To say James had been fragile when Steve and Sam first brought him back was a bit of an understatement. Steve would later describe him as, “A fucking mess, but there has never been a man who looked more attractive after five weeks of no showers.” 

But, it was understandable. Hydra had a way of screwing you up in the worst way possible, and there’s only so much Sam Wilson can do on a three-hour flight – no matter how angelic those damn cheekbones were. 

No one blamed James for being a bit sensitive to light, noise and human beings in general, but whatever worries he had about meeting someone other than the two men who’d led the manhunt for him were dispelled almost immediately by Miss Potts. James was tempted to start a fanclub.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes.” She smiled kindly at him, reaching a hand out for him to grip. The manners his ma had instilled in him were still, apparently, buried under years worth of Hydra knows what, so he reached out to grip it, momentarily freezing when he saw the contrast of the silver against Miss Potts’ skin.

He could break her. Just in the blink of an eye, he could crush every bone in that delicate hand. What was even more incredible – or worse, depending on how you looked at it –, was that she didn’t seem to mind.

He could feel the warmth of her skin through the sensors in the arm, and he realized that this was the first _kind_ human contact he’d felt in decades. He could feel his other hand getting clammy as repressed memories of contact that was _not_ kind worked themselves to the surface, but he shoved them down, deciding that he could deal with that another day. Or never. Yeah, never sounded good, even though Wilson would never let him off that easy.

“Miss Potts,” He said, releasing her hand. It was uncomfortable to let go of it, to lose that contact. “Hydra wants you dead, but I can keep you safe until I’ve trained your team better.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and James couldn’t really say he blamed her. He might have benefitted from telling Steve first and then have Steve tell her, but Hydra wasn’t big on tact, which was why James had lost all ability to talk to women. People, really, come to think of it.

“I see,” She said, briefly glancing at Steve. He actually seemed happy, which was… Odd. “I need to be sure you know that your place here, is yours – and it doesn’t depend on whether you work or not. You’re not here as a guest of Steve either, you’re here as your own person. Nothing will change that.”

“I understand.” James said, though he absolutely did not. She was being so _nice_ , and that was just too much for his brain to process. He hated that he couldn’t, because he _knew_ that he should be able to. “I need to secure the apartments.”

“Why don’t we go there now?” Steve suggested, “We have time before dinner.”

They decided that walking through the lab-area to get to his rooms would be smart; try to get him acquainted with everything in the Tower as soon as possible. James had always been independent, and the idea of needing Steve by his side every time he saw someone in a white coat made him physically ill, and exposure therapy never went wrong, right?

“These are Dr. Foster’s labs,” Steve said, gesturing to the general area behind the bulletproof glass, “She’s an astrophysicist, and Thor’s soulmate. She’s brilliant and reckless, so obviously, we get on really well.”

James rolled his eyes at Steve, thoroughly unimpressed by his friend. “Yeah, you’re a fucking genius.”  
“Shut up, asshole,” Steve scoffed, just before his entire face crumbled as he realized what he’d said, and turned to James with apologies already spewing from his lips.

“Shut up, punk,” James interrupted him, words he’d never even think of saying just a few weeks ago spilling easily, “I’m not a doll.”

“I’m sor– “  
“Steve,” Sam said, tilting his head in the direction of James, “He’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Right.” Steve nodded brusquely, reigning himself in. He was about to say something else, but just then the elevator at the end of the hall dinged, and a woman dressed in a flowing skirt and tight shirt walked out, going straight to Dr. Foster’s labs without so much as a glance in their direction.

You didn’t need to be a super soldier to see that she was pissed off.

“Miss Lewis,” One of the lab assistants met her in the door to the lab, blocking her entrance with her body. “You can’t come in, it’s against protocol.”

“I do not give a flying fuck about your _protocols_ ,” She spat as she gently tried to push the assistant out of the way. “Jane has a very _specific_ way of talking when she hasn’t slept properly in five days, so let me through, you absolute _hamster_!”

“Is ‘hamster’ a common insult nowadays?” James whispered to Sam, who was also glued to the spot, watching as the woman argued with the assistant, and the assistant called for security. They seemed reluctant to incapacitate her because she was so obviously not a threat, and also, she’d worked in the building for a _year_.

“No,” Sam whispered back, then turned to Steve. “It isn’t, right?”  
“Are you seriously asking _me_ to decode the intricacies of modern language?” Steve hissed, one arm hovering just outside of reach for James’ metal arm. He was worried the loud voices would trigger some sort of flashback, but honestly, James seemed more infatuated than terrified. He’d always had a soft spot for women who yelled at people.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sam answered, still whispering. “That was stupid.”  
“Really stupid.” James added, watching as the woman finally pushed her way into the lab, and towards another woman writing on a blackboard. “Like, wow. It would be physically impossible to have hit the mark more wrong on that one.”

“Yeah, all right, Bucky.” Steve muttered, “We get it. I’m a fossil, ha-fucking-ha. Also, the structure of that sentence is an abomination.”

“Why are you whispering?” Miss Potts asked, “You know she can’t hear us, right?”  
“Oh.” Steve said dumbly, straightening his back. Pepper had a way of making him stand at parade rest without saying anything, but judging by Bucky and Sam’s reaction, she had a way of doing that to all ex-military. “Yes. Of course. We are Avengers, of course we knew that.”

“Are you… _Blushing_?” James poked Steve’s cheek curiously with his finger, frowning at redness.  
“Shut it.” Steve bit out, forgetting for a minute what Bucky had been through, and that getting him to talk was sort of important. Of course, the guilty conscious that followed was completely unnecessary if you asked James, but good luck telling Steve that. “It’s not like I can control it.”

“You can if you’re a Hydra-agent.” James said, and then he promptly fell to the floor in a mess of extremely muscly limbs. 

“Guess we found the first trigger,” Sam sighed, already mentally cataloging New York-based therapists who could be trusted. He had a feeling James would need him more as a friend than anything else, and it would be easier for Steve to talk to him if they were on the same page. And they should probably call in Professor Xavier as well.

Darcy was still yelling at her friend’s so-called colleagues as they carried Barnes to his room, so she didn’t notice the way his eyes flickered open as her voice reached a higher-than-strictly-possible note, and she didn’t notice the way the words crawling their way down her ribcage tingled either. 


	2. Kapittel 2 - Flannel and Pancake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Generally speaking, James was offended by flannel.
> 
> (In which we meet Darcy, and Sam tries to be cooler than he is. Even though he is actually very cool)
> 
> Bonus points for everyone who can name the two shows I'm sort of crossing over with here ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful response to this fic! I know a lot of people prefer not to read WIPs, so thank you for giving this a shot!
> 
> Also, sorry for the late chapter (I'm on Norwegian time here), but I had physical therapy today, and so I've been sleeping for the past eleven hours. Whoops!
> 
> Hugs!

“No, what the _he_ – _no_!” 

James looked up from his breakfast – a bowl of oatmeal that could only be described as sad – to see the girl from a few months ago storm into the common room kitchen, wearing what seemed to be the most formfitting dress in existence, with Thor’s flannel layered over it. James thought the combination worked, but he was fairly certain _she_ was the only who could make it work. He couldn’t remember a time when flannel looked good on _anyone_.

“ _Really_?” She said to the phone, smiling briefly at James as a sort of ‘hello’ as she went about preparing her own breakfast. The pancakes she was making managed to make his oatmeal look even sadder, something he didn’t think was possible. “You want _me_ on his campaign trail? What part of ‘ _feminist who respects herself’_ don’t you understand?”

James snorted, well aware she worked in politics, and that Senators weren’t exactly known for their progressive stance when it came to women. From what little James had overheard in conversation between Dr. Foster and Miss Lewis – Thor had told him the name in passing, with a very knowing glint in his eyes – she seemed to like her job for the most part, but this was obviously an exception. 

“Just last week he said he was willing to shut down the government over this! And you know I happen to be Pro-Choice, and I _thought_ that was the general stance of the DNC. And why is he even a part of the Party if he’s so opposed to abortion?” She asked, slamming her plate into the counter. She winced at the sound of it, sending James an apologetic look. There wasn’t any pity there, which was surprising. It was more like a ‘sorry about that’ instead of a ‘sorry about your sensitivity to noise due to the years of torture’.

“Moderate my ass,” She muttered, carefully placing batter in the pan, making a perfect circle. “He’s a republican, and he joined the Dems because he knew he wasn’t conservative enough to win the base of the party. He’s just picking up scraps of undecided voters, gaining just enough momentum for him to be more than a fringe candidate, and for the press to actually report on him. He’s making himself the underdog, and you’re letting him. And I wonder why, because you _know_ he has no shot in the primaries.

“And besides, the only reason you’re even talking to me about this is because you know I can bring certain demographics with me. You think I can bring the female vote, which of course I can, but what makes you think I’ll bring them to _him_? He’d do _nothing_ for us. Absolutely jack shit.

“And it’s not just women either, Toby! I mean; does he have a plan for tuition? Healthcare? Reforming the justice system? Taxing, where does he stand on that?”

James heard Sam humming in agreement in the background, and rolled his eyes at the paramedic. Natasha really had some work to do if she wanted to make him a spy, but James had a feeling she wouldn’t mind. He also had a feeling that Steve wouldn’t mind helping out, but that was a conversation for another day.

Miss Lewis brought her pancakes with her as she sat down opposite of him. There were a few too many pancakes for her to ever finish eating, but he forgave her for her mistakes in rationing because of the eye roll that had lasted a good twenty seconds now. James was impressed with her stamina, but considering the god-awful flannel she was wearing, he couldn’t find it in him to be impressed by anything else. Especially not her perfect pancakes, or her ability to completely overtake any conversation and get what she wanted. Not at all.

The person she was talking to – male, mid-forties; his serum did come in handy sometimes – was obviously pissing her off, as evidenced by the way she was stabbing her pancakes furiously. The fighter in him wasn’t impressed with her technique, but her enthusiasm made up for what she was lacking. The two pancakes on the top of the pile were completely shredded.

“Yeah,” She said sarcastically, obviously not agreeing to whatever was being said, “If it’s one demographic we really need to cater more to, it’s white men in their mid-twenties to mid-hundreds.”

Darcy raised her eyebrows at him, perfectly embodying ‘can you believe this shit?’ and James raised his shoulders in a shrug, trying to convey ‘yes I can, and I’m sorry’. Judging by her small smile, he was successful. A part of him wondered if this counted as conversation, but either way, it was human interaction of some sort. According to his therapist, that was progress. Maybe he’d ask Sam later, as he was still spying on him. _Trying_ to spy, at least.

”All right, Toby, I’ve had enough. I don’t know why you’re pushing this candidate on me, and no, I’m not buying that whole ‘for the party’-shit you’re trying with me. I work for the party in name only; everyone knows my loyalty is with _this_ administration, and President Bartlet.

“And unless the next president is named Santos, I’m out. I’ll leave for Stark, or Murdock, or get some idealistic first-timer named Knope or something, elected for city council. And since none of those options really appeal to me, that means I’m getting Santos elected. Now, you can help me – which I know you want to – or you can stand in my way, which we both know is futile. And you don’t want to do that anyway.”

Darcy held still as whomever it was she was talking to kept silent, and a few seconds later, James could hear a resigned, “All right, fine. Whatever.”

She grinned brightly, and James didn’t know if it was how pretty she looked or how fast she jumped up from her chair that made his heart rate speed up, but either way, she was responsible. Which was odd, because his heart rate always stayed the same. And his leg was itching too, right where his words were. Which was also odd, because when did his words start acting up? He knew the stories, of course, about how sometimes you’d feel it when your mate was either close by or you’d soon meet them, but… Now didn’t seem like a good time to start a relationship or even _meet_ his mate, and deal with that pressure.

Darcy tapped him on the shoulders and brought him out of his thoughts, already talking on the phone to a new person. She grinned at him and pointed to a plate of pancakes he hadn’t noticed, sitting on the table right in front of him. There was a hastily written post it note attached, reading, ‘they’re better than that healthy crap you’re eating. Treat yo’self.’

When he turned to say thank you, she was already gone, but the itching on his thigh wasn’t.

Sam moved out from the shadows and sat down next to him, and though he raised a brow at the pancakes, he wisely didn’t say anything.

“So…” He nudged James’ shoulder, completely failing in his effort to be suave. James wondered if it said anything about him that Steve had befriended him so easily, as every other friend Steve had was a giant fucking nerd. “New friend, huh?” He said, laughing when James responded by showing half a pancake in his mouth.

It was genuinely hard not to moan; a mixture of flour, eggs and milk should _not_ be able to taste that good.  
“Cnt ta-k,” James mumbled, gesturing to his mouth with a shrug. Sam rolled his eyes, grimacing in disgust as some of the pancake fell out of his mouth. James was fairly certain his mother would come back from the dead and spank him for it.

“Darcy Lewis,” Sam said, once he’d stopped looking at him with his patented ‘The Avengers have all lost it and we're doomed’-look, “Foster’s intern turned best friend, turned political mastermind. You could do worse.”  
“She was always a political mastermind,” James said, ignoring the last part of Sam’s sentence. “Hydra wanted me to kill her.”

“What?” Sam asked, and James silently agreed. _How did he know that_?

“Why didn’t I kill her?” He mumbled to himself, the pancake in his mouth turning to cardboard as buried memories surfaced. Mission reports, training, cleaning the arm. It was all there. He could remember what she looked like through the scope of a rifle, barely seventeen and with a freshly written paper on the accountability of the media, and the standards it should be held to.

“Why didn’t you?” Sam asked, grabbing hold of James’s arm. It always seemed to centre him, help him calm down.  
“I didn’t want to.” James answered, and then his eyes rolled back, and he fell into Sam’s lap, unconscious and with a lightly twitching leg.


	3. Kapittel 3 - Catholic Guilt and Eyeliner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get more into the slightly unrealistic and crack-y side of things, and we meet Stacy From Accounting! And we also find out why this is tagged as 'Bucky the Make-Up Artist'
> 
> (I don't want to spoil the end of this work, but honestly... Don't expect any epic, romantic unveiling of soulmates! I mean, Darcy is pretty epic beforehand, but Bucky kinda ruins the epic moments. In the best way possible, of course! Okay, anyway. Here is the chapter!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19/6-16:
> 
> I've just gone through the first three chapters (will do the fourth right away!) to check for any mistakes and add a few things here and there - nothing major, only to clarify a few things and clean up the text. I also added a new ending to this chapter so the ending to the next chapter doesn't come as a complete shock/out of character. Honestly, this fic did not end up as I planned, and there are a few traces of that. lol. Anyway, thanks for reading!!

Though the serum was a hassle most of the time, James got used to it. He could have done without the metabolism, but since Stark refused to let anyone else pick up the bill for anything related to the general well-being of the team (he really was a softie), James supposed he couldn’t complain too much.

He could complain a little bit if he wanted to, though – the strength he possessed scared him a lot of the time. It was bad enough when he was awake and aware of his own body, and he was able to actually control his own limbs, but the nightmares and the flashbacks… He had _no_ control of himself, and it was almost like he was back under _their_ control again. He hated it, and he hated it for a long time, before he realized that he could do some good with the strength too. But if he broke one more mug because ceramic doesn’t mix well with metal arms, he’d send the damn bill to Hydra.

Then there was the _special_ brand of healing that came with his version of the serum. While Steve could spend a few days in the ICU when things were at their worst, at least he knew that when he was done, he was _done_. James’ healing was shallow and fast, meaning that bruises would be gone in ten minutes, but the pain could last for hours. It said a lot about Hydra, about how they were more about a show of strength, as opposed to strength itself.

But the worst part was without a doubt the hearing. James could remember reading comics abut Superman and secretly wishing for those powers, but those comics were _not_ an accurate representation of reality. Sure, he could help rescue workers pick out a heartbeat under fifteen tonnes of rubble, but he also knew way too much about his friends’ sex-lives.

And really, listening to Stacy from accounting crying in the ladies bathroom while he was trying to enjoy his lunch was not what he signed up for. Actually, he didn’t sign up for anything – he was _drafted_ into the war. And now he was here, in a noisy cafeteria, surrounded by Pepper Potts’ security, listening to the sound of Stacy From Accounting’s tears hitting the tile floor of the bathroom.

Sometimes he regretted taking Steve up on the offer of coming home.

But still… It wasn’t like he could just sit here and listen to her crying without helping. His mother would roll over in her grave. So in a weird mixture of the Winter Soldier’s approach to problem solving, mid-thirties manners, and Catholic guilt that still made itself known from time to time, James excused himself from the table, and took the elevator down to the lobby.

Since Miss Potts loved Scandinavian Minimalism and modern art, the lobby was as sleek as the rest of the building, which meant that there weren’t many shadows for the bathroom to hide in. Luckily, James was a legendary sniper, and the inspiration for most of the stories Senior Agents told baby agents around the campfire, so he found the bathroom easily. The sign pointing towards it might have helped, but you could never prove that.

He ignored the looks he got as he walked towards the bathroom, already well aware of how out of place he looked in his combat boots and semi-hidden guns. The metal arm didn’t help him blend in, but having it out in the open was part of his therapy. Something about accepting it as a part of him, and in the process, accepting himself. James wasn’t sure, but Sam seemed positive when he’d told him about it, so he figured he’d give it a shot. Sam generally seemed to know what he was doing, which was more than he could say for the majority of the Avengers.

James entered the bathroom, heading for the cubicle in the north-west corner where he could Stacy From Accounting crying, and then proceeded to gently unhinge the door.

Sadly, it wasn’t until the door was unhinged and she was staring up at him in surprise, that he realized he would have to _talk_ to her now, like fully functioning adults who _did not_ break down doors when they heard people crying.

James _hated_ talking.

“What.” He said, just about stopping himself from wincing when Stacy From Accounting shrunk back from his mean stare. He realized now that he would’ve benefitted from consulting a fully functioning member of society before doing this.

“What?” Stacy From Accounting repeated, though she actually sounded like she was asking a question. James was still working on that. It wasn’t going great – inflection was a lot harder than people made it seem.

“Crying.” He bit out, hand flexing around the cubicle stall in irritation. He never knew how to talk to civilians; if he should just bark orders at them or carry Steve over, and let him deal with them. “Why?”

Stacy From Accounting giggled, the sound of it a touch hysterical. James frowned, using his hearing to check her heartbeat. It was a bit fast, but otherwise fine.  
“Sorry,” She said, wiping some tears from her cheek. “You just reminded me of Tarzan.”

“ _Crying_.” James repeated, briefly considering just dumping Stacy From Accounting in Pepper’s office and letting her deal with this. Pepper always knew what to do. And what the hell was a ‘ _Tarzan_ ’? “Why?”

Stacy From Accounting seemed confused as to why he cared, but then again, so was James. It felt like they were on even ground now, which wasn’t ideal, but it was better than her having the upper hand. “I… Do you really want to know?”

“I can’t have you crying in the damn bathrooms, can I?” James huffed, sidestepping the door laying on the floor, and letting Stacy From Accounting out of the cubicle. She seemed grateful, which was good. She wasn’t sobbing anymore either, which was even better. It was always easier to talk when people weren’t crying. Also, he'd just made a sentence! Maybe therapy wasn't overrated.

“My girlfriend found her soulmate.” She said as she washed her hands, avoiding his blank stare. She probably didn’t want anyone too see her this way, but everyone was always the most desperate to talk about things they _didn’t_ want to talk about. Humans were weird, but that was hardly a surprise. “She left.”

“You deserve better.” James said decisively, searching for something better to stay. What to do in a situation like this wasn’t something Hydra or the SSR covered in their handy leaflets, but he was determined to become a human being capable of giving advice. “Don’t stop believing in love.”

Stacy From Accounting paused as she reached for a paper towel, gaping at him in the mirror. “Are you…? Sorry, but are you an hallucination?”

James frowned in confusion, shaking his head. “No. But if I was, do you really think I’d tell you?”  
“I don’t know,” Stacy From Accounting shrugged as she began rooting through a makeup bag she’d lifted from her purse. “I’ve never hallucinated before.”

“Well, I’m not an hallucination.” James said, watching with a wary eye as she went through the bag. There was room for several weapons in it, and you could never be too certain. Sam disagreed, but what did he know? (A lot, actually – but that was beside the point.)

“Whatever you say,” Stacy From Accounting said absently, sighing as she eventually just emptied the bag all over the counter. “There you are,” She said triumphantly, eyes lighting up as she held up a slender, black pen.

James was on her in seconds, capturing her wrists in his hand, and pushing her up against the counter. She whimpered – in surprise, not pain; he had no reason to hurt her yet – as he grabbed the pen from her, using his bionic arm just in case.

The device weighed nothing more than a few grams, but he knew better than anyone that a bigger size doesn’t equal more destruction. More often than not, it was the exact opposite, so he briefly let go of her wrists, using his thigh to keep her in place as he activated the COM in his ear.

“Jarvis,” He barked, ignoring the terrified look on Stacy’s face. He learned not to underestimate a good actress a long time ago. “Scan, please. ”

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes.” Jarvis answered, going silent for a few seconds. Stacy From Accounting’s heart rate was through the roof, but she wisely didn’t say anything. Eventually, James could hear a nearly silent _beep_ in his hear, followed by Jarvis, “It appears to be Kat Von D’s Tattoo Liner in the color Trooper, Sergeant Barnes.”

Stacy From Accounting shrugged at him in the mirror, sighing in the relief as he let go of her. His hand reached out to steady her as she wobbled on her feet, but he managed to catch himself before he touched her. He was surprised she hadn’t cried for help yet.

“Right.” He said, backing away towards the door. “I’ll leave now.” _Before I accidentally accuse you of being Hydra, even though you were only trying to fix your makeup._

“No, wait!” Stacy From Accounting protested, turning to look at him. She looked like a sad panda, with her makeup smeared in black and shimmery circles around her eyes. “You have steady hands right?”

James frowned, the hand on the door pausing. “Yes?”  
“And you came in here to help me. Right?” Stacy From Accounting asked, nodding towards the door leaning up against the wall.  
“Yes?” James said, and wow. Would you look at that? He knew how to make questions now!

“Exactly!” Stacy from Accounting grinned, bouncing on her toes. It was a big improvement on the state he’d found her in, but he struggled to see what he’d done to help. Maybe she just liked shiny things. “Which means you have to help me with my eyeliner.”

James left eyebrow twitched in surprise. “ _Really_?”  
It wasn't that  _couldn't_ do her makeup - he'd helped a fair share of girls get ready for their missions - it was more that,  _again_ , he'd just sort of attacked, and she was asking for help with her makeup. It was anomalies like this that made it so hard to decode human interaction. 

“Yes.” Stacy From Accounting said, gesturing to the pen still in his hand. He hadn’t even noticed it was still there. “The ruined eyeliner is a byproduct of crying, which means you have to help me fix it.”

By now, James was fairly certain Stacy From Accounting was an agent Steve had planted, just to help him _not_ feel terrible when he inevitably screwed up human interaction. There was no other explanation for anyone wanting him so up in their face, after he’d basically hunted them down, forced himself into a very private – and off-limits – space, only to nearly arrest them. 

But then he saw how her hands were shaking, and how she was holding herself like she was bracing for something. Rejection, hurt, pity; it didn’t matter.

Stacy From Accounting deserved help with her eyeliner.

“Okay.” James let go off the door handle, walking the few steps necessary to stand next to Stacy From Accounting. If he was entirely honest, he’d have to admit that this wasn’t what he’d planned to do with his life post-Hydra.

But then again, the only reason he even knew who Stacy From Accounting _was_ , was because Pepper had taken him under her wing and given him something to do with his hands while he worked out what the hell was going on with his brain. She insisted on knowing about the interpersonal relationships in the Tower, and he remembered the day HR had sent up a file detailing the relatively new relationship between Isabel In Legal and Stacy From Accounting.

Pepper had been happy for them – at least according to the dilation of her pupils and the smile on her lips –, telling him they must have met while Stacy From Accounting was walking towards her office.

On second thought, that was probably why she wanted help in the first place. James went out of his way to make sure Steve wouldn’t have to meet the girls he’d been on a disastrous date with, so he honestly couldn’t imagine making Stacy From Accounting walk back to her office with the evidence of her heartbreak plain to see for everyone, including Isabel In Legal.

James was an asshole sometimes, but he wasn’t cruel. Not when he tried not to be, anyway.  

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, screwing the cap off the pen. It looked to be a brush tip, which was good. He’d found that felt tips tended to be very flaky.

“Just a wing,” She answered, jumping up on the counter. She was tall enough that her shoes – sensible, flat shoes you could comfortably run in, as opposed to the stilts Miss Potts preferred – nearly touched the floor.

“And to be clear, you want a geometrical, triangular wing symmetrical to the one on your other eye?”

Stacy From Accounting had already closed her eyes, but she opened one to look at him in suspicion as she tried to figure out if he was messing with her or not. She didn’t know that in his mind, a failed mission or a misunderstanding lead to hours of torture, so he couldn’t be blamed for wanting to clarify. She didn’t know that he usually talked in five-word-sentences or less either and that this was actually a big improvement. He didn't blame her for that, though.

“Symmetrical,” She confirmed once she was sure he wasn't screwing with her, closing her eyes again. 

James looked at the other eye, determining how close to the crease the flick of the wing was. It was nearly all the way up, and since Stacy From Accounting had fairly symmetrical eye sockets, he figured this would be easy enough. Not _easy_ , because eyeliner never was, but easier than it could have been.

“Right.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing a paper towel and some makeup remover from the small mountain of product she’d dumped out of her bag. He gently removed the leftover eye shadow and smudged liner, making a note to make sure all the bathrooms were stocked with cotton pads as well.  
Pepper wouldn’t mind; everyone seemed annoyingly happy whenever he made a decision by himself.

He dusted some nude eye shadow over her lid to lay a base, and drew a deep breath. This was where they determined whether they’d be in the bathroom for five hours or two minutes.

“Nervous?” The sudden sound of Stacy From Accounting’s voice echoed of the tiles, nearly making James jump. She was grinning though, which was good. Better than crying at least, even if it was at his expense.

He merely grunted in response, gently placing a finger under her chin to keep her steady. She didn’t flinch as the cold metal of his arm touched her skin, which relaxed him more than he cared to admit.

James considered the fact that he was more nervous about getting the liner right than he’d ever been when, say, defusing a bomb or anything similar. He figured he should probably talk to his therapist about that.

He shook that thought out of his mind, determined not to think about it until tomorrow, and placed the tip of the liner just underneath her crease, making a dot. He took a step back, checking to see if it was symmetrical to the end of the wing on the other eye. It matched perfectly, which was to be expected; if it was one thing he had confidence in about himself, it was his aim.

Stacy From Accounting kept perfectly still as James placed the tip of the brush at an angle, dragging a straight line from the dot he’d made, down towards the lash line. James rolled his back to relax, ignoring the way Stacy From Accounting’s lips were twitching in amusement, and placed the brush in the inner corner of her eye.

Carefully, he pulled the liner back towards the flick, making sure to lift the line a few millimeters as he went, so he could add the thickness in one sweep. It was risky, but it paid off in a smooth line.

James grabbed a brush from the counter, using the handle to lift her eyelid. It made every blank spot visible, and he carefully began to fill in the blanks of the line. He stepped back again; making sure everything was as even as he could make it.

“I need you to sit completely still for this.” James said with what Steve referred to as his 'Sergeant voice'. Maybe Steve was on to something, because Stacy From Accounting straightened her back as if on instinct, and kept perfectly still as he used the brush to push her lid up again, and then placed the tip of the liner on that same dot from before.

Carefully, he pulled the line down at an angle towards the inner corner, making sure it was perfectly straight. Luckily the liner was fairly new, and didn’t pull on the skin as he drew. The line connected with the lash line, and he carefully began filling in the triangle he’d just created.

“There you go,” James said with a tiny, but proud, smile. “All done.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for eyeliner to be symmetrical outside of YouTube-tutorials!” Stacy From Accounting marveled at herself in the mirror, leaning in close to study her eyes. She turned back to look at him when she was finished, grinning widely. “Thank you. I kinda want to hug you, but I only met you five minutes ago, so…”

“Let’s… Not.” James grimaced, shaking his head. Hugs were a no-go. “Just… No.”  
Stacy From Accounting nodded in agreement, and even though there was absolutely nothing that suggested he’d emotionally hurt her by refusing a hug, James felt weird about just leaving her there, alone. Which was weird in itself, considering he’d gone above and beyond what his job entailed. That damn Catholic guilt; it sneaks up on you.

“You need to eat.” James said, once again proving just how capable he was of human interaction. It was the stress; it messed with his speech. But to be fair, he’d actually made a few sentences in the past five minutes, so that was good.  
“Sorry?” Stacy From Accounting asked, looking at him in confusion.

“Your face. It shows sign of a sudden lack of nutrition. A disinterest in food is not an uncommon physical presentation of heartbreak, and it’s also an understandable one. But you need to eat.”

James awkwardly handed her the eyeliner as Stacy From Accounting stared at him in mixture of disbelief and incredulity. She took the pen as if on autopilot, putting in the bag.

“I can’t tell if you’re being rude or nice.” She said, narrowing her eyes on him.  
“Neither.” James said, “I’m being practical. You need to be at full strength to perform your duties with the professionalism that is expected of you.”

“Nice, then.” Stacy From Accounting concluded, zipping up the makeup bag and stuffing it in her purse. She looked at him expectantly as she hoisted the purse over her shoulder, waiting for his cue.

“What?” He asked, and look at that. He _could_ make questions sound like questions two times in the  _same conversation_. Wow.  
“Food. You can’t say I need to eat, and then not bring me to someplace I can eat.”

“You don’t think this is a date, do you?” James asked suspiciously, unconsciously moving backwards. Maybe Sam had a point about talking to civilians – he called them ‘people’, but whatever – because James hadn’t done anything without critically analyzing every last piece of said action, for about seventy years. He’d just _moved_. _Unconsciously_.

“Dude.” Stacy From Accounting was thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m lesbian.”  
“Right.” James nodded. And then nodded once more. He was nailing this whole ‘be a human being with thoughts and feelings’-thing. “They have hot chocolate in the cafeteria. You need the carbs.”

“Is this your way of making friends?” Stacy From Accounting asked as she walked out the door James was holding open, because he was a damn gentleman and his mother had taught him right.

He still refused to answer though, because to be honest; he wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never _made_ friends – not really. Steve was just there and it wasn’t like James could just let him go off on his own. Natasha was the same, and Sam and Pepper had just been handed to him on a silver platter.

Stark did what he wanted and butted himself into James’ life with the surety of man who’d never not been a millionaire, and Bruce kept to himself but still – somehow – managed to go out of his way to make sure James felt included. It was the same with Barton, only more arrows and dogs.

The few friends he had were just collected, with no form of introduction or unhinged bathroom doors. He didn’t know if this was how he made friends, because he’d never _made_ a friend. They were just there one day.

Still… He’d done her eyeliner. He supposed there were worse ways of making a friend. But it was too late to answer anyway, because she was already rooting through her purse, looking for a device that was beeping incessantly.

“Hah!” Stacy From Accounting held up her phone, ripping out the tangled earphones as she read whatever was on her screen. James was trying to be more trusting of people and therefore didn’t read over her shoulder as they walked, but when they stopped by the elevator and waited for it to come down to the lobby, he peaked a look anyway. He was a spy, not a saint.

Apparently not a very good spy, though, because Stacy From Accounting caught him looking with a grin. James refused to apologize; she knew who he was. The PR approved version of him, anyway.

“A live feed from CNN is about to start,” She explained, tilting the screen in his direction so he could see it better. “Darcy Lewis is speaking on behalf of the President in Congress on global warming and stuff like that,”

“Oh,” James said, his heartbeat picking when he saw a picture of her over the headline that read ‘Liberal Bartlet Staffer to Speak in Republican Congress – Watch NOW’. She was wearing that same red dress from a few weeks ago when they’d met in the kitchen, only with a black blazer over it.

He could make out a few congressmen watching her in the background, their eyes focused far more south than he liked. Sure, she looked beautiful, but that didn’t mean she didn’t deserve respect.

“Do you know her?” Stacy From Accounting asked as the elevator opened in front of them, “I know she used to work in the Tower.”  
“We’ve met.” James said vaguely, following Stacy From Accounting into the elevator, pressing the button for the fourth floor as he went. It was empty, so no need to wait while other people excited, which was nice.

“Lucky you,” Stacy From Accounting pressed play on the video, and the sound of a congress waiting for a session to begin filled the elevator. “I’m sort of in love with her brain.”

“There are worse brains.” James said, looking down at the screen. “If you start taking care of Dr. Foster’s account, you might run into her.”  
“Really?” She craned her neck to look up at him, eyes lighting up.

“Maybe,” James said, just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened smoothly. It was little things like that, that reminded him they were in Stark’s building; how even the elevators were perfect. “But she’s very protective, so you have to do a good job.”

“I always do a good job,” Stacy From Accounting huffed, walking out the doors and to the right, towards the cafeteria. Of course, this was a cafeteria designed by Stark, so it was more like a restaurant.

James didn’t have a chance to say anything, because just then he could hear microphone feedback from her phone, and a Senator Santos began introducing himself. Stacy From Accounting held up the phone as they walked, making sure he could see. Miss Lewis was just rising from the chair, righting her dress as she stood.

“God morning, everyone,” She said pleasantly, smiling at the room. “In case you don’t know who I am – though I know I’ve yelled at quite a few of you in my years here –, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Darcy Lewis and I am the deputy Chief of Staff for President Bartlet, working directly under Chief of Staff Josh Lyman. It is with both Mr. Lyman and President Bartlet’s permission that I speak here today…”

It was here, walking with Stacy From Accounting through the halls of Stark’s phallic tribute to himself, that he realized he didn’t only like Miss Lewis when she was yelling at someone.

He just liked her. And he’d never even _talked_ to her.

(Though, make no mistake - he was still inappropriately happy whenever he caught her yelling at someone. Honestly, she _glowed_.)


	4. Kapittel 4  - Lawyers and Soulmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN, CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH - this was not intended to be serious fic, it just kinda got away for me, and then Bucky got kinda serious every once in a while. That means that the unveiling of the whole soulmate thing isn't something romantic. It's not an epic rescue, it's not a romantic speech only worthy of leaving Hugh Grant's lips - none of that. 
> 
> This is a crack fick that got way out of hand and got slightly serious and therefore the marks are not romantic or anything like that. I'm just telling you now, JUST SO YOU KNOW and isn't disappointed in the end. 
> 
> OKAY HERE'S THE END OF THIS NIGHTMARE THAT HAS PLAGUED ME FOR WEEKS ON END ENJOY

The FBI agents were already swarming Dr. Foster’s lab as James came running to it, Sam and Steve hot on his heels. The ringing bells – Tony’s idea of _comedy_ – had alerted every Avenger in the building, so Clint and Nat were already outside the lab as the dynamic trio entered, AK47s and Glocks at the ready.

They might have taken it easier on the firepower if they’d stopped to think about why Nat and Clint hadn’t already entered, but that would mean slowing down, and action heroes doesn’t slow down – that just didn’t look very impressive, and in the end, wasn’t that most important?

Though James couldn’t deny that Sam’s small backpack seemed very anti-climactic from where it was hanging limply from his hand, no matter the firepower inside.

“Jane, my love, are you all right? I heard the bells!” Thor shouted, hammer in hand as he burst through the doors, heading straight for an absolutely furious Jane. James was pretty sure Thor only shouted because it helped feed the Midgardian assumption that he was a stupid jock, but James didn’t plan on telling that to anyone soon. He could respect a well-developed plan, and for Christ’s sake – the man was two thousand years old. He knew what he was doing.

“But yet…” Thor said quietly – as quiet as he bothered to be anyway, - coming to stand behind Jane as an extra-terrestrial guard dog. “I see no danger?”

“Oh, there is plenty of danger, Thor.” Sam said, recognizing some faces from his time in Army. No one he’d really gotten to know, but he’d seen them around.

“Legal danger.” James nodded towards the agents scattered around the room, feeling slightly uncomfortable when everyone turned to look at him. They seemed offended by not being classified as a danger, which James found sort of hilarious, considering all of them were hunched over in defensive positions. They were nothing more than babies with guns, _if that_.

“Exactly! These tragic little hamsters are stealing my work!” Jane shouted, pointing to the so-called agents milling about.

“Dr. Foster, we are not _stealing_ anything,” One man, clearly he was the leader, said. As if the expensive suit he’d bought for the sole purpose of intimidation wasn’t enough, the arrogant posture certainly helped making sure everyone knew.

“Oh no?” Jane’s sneer reminded James of a back alley cat, poised to attack. “You’re just barging into _my_ workplace, taking _my_ notes and _my_ babies and then taking them away with _you_! In what world is that not ste-?“

“Don’t say another word, Jane!” Darcy Lewis – this time in a blue, knee length dress that turned James’ brain to mush and made Steve smirk smugly from where he was standing by the door – strode into the lab, scanning the room as she went.

She paused by James, and he resolutely ignored the way his leg tingled as she sent him a quick smile. He also tried to ignore Sam suggestively wagging his eyebrows, but though it felt like a personal failure, James glared back. Thankfully, Darcy was already standing next to Jane and in front of Arrogant Boss, and didn’t notice just how childish he could be.

“Agent Hamilton,” She said pleasantly. He didn’t exactly shrink under Darcy’s attention – his pride wouldn’t have allowed that – but he seemed to fall a little. Like he subconsciously knew that the battle was already lost, and the only reason he hadn’t given up were the agents watching with rapt attention.

“Miss Lewis.” Hamilton replied, shifting on his feet. His finger was tapping the paper in his hand – the one Jane had already tried to tear to pieces _twice_ – but other than that, he hid his nerves well. James could still see them, peeking out through a show of confidence that was anything but real.

There was nothing about Hamilton that pointed towards a violent nature, but there was this nagging little feeling that made James step a little closer to Darcy, just in case. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind that told him it was worry, not instinct, that made him move. He also ignored that the voice sounded suspiciously like his mother.

James moved to stand beside Thor, making sure to position himself so he could see everyone, even Clint and Natasha who were lurking around outside the lab.

Ever since the information dump, they’d preferred to stay in the shadows, waiting until the public eventually forgot the details of that they looked like, and they could go undercover again. James didn’t mind – not for now, anyway – so he let them stay were they were. They’d come in and sharpen knives in front of the agents, should they prove to be difficult.

Of course, this meant he could also see Steve smirking at him, and James resisted the temptation to stomp his foot on the floor and yell, ‘I do not have a crush on Lewis!’. Sam was looking at him like he knew what he was thinking, and didn’t buy it. Having friends who were far more interested in your love life than you were was annoying.

And look at that, even _Thor_ had joined them now, smirking like a Labrador who’d stolen the last piece of PopTart. Actually, come to think of it – Thor had seemed invested in the non-relationship from the start; he’d just been discreet about it. James had always laughed – quietly – at people who underestimated Thor, and here he was doing the exact same thing.

It was just another reason not to underestimate him, really.

Darcy was still smiling pleasantly at Hamilton, not noticing James’ mind going a mile a minute, and ignoring Jane, who was growing more impatient by the second.

“I haven’t seen you since the business with Scorpion,” She said casually, silencing Jane with a quick look as she began to protest the lack of yelling going on. She quieted down with a huff, only relaxing a little bit when Thor reached down to squeeze her hand in reassurance. She kept quiet though, knowing that this was the sort of situation Darcy knew how to handle.

“Yes. Well.” Hamilton shrugged, pursing his lips. James didn’t need seventy-ish years worth of training under Hydra to know that ‘Scorpion’ – whatever that was – was clearly a sore spot. He did, however, need those years of training to see Darcy’s satisfactory smirk. She’d clearly won that round. Honestly, that smirk made James just as happy as the yelling. “I still don’t know why you were there, to be honest. It wasn’t White House-business.”

“Everything is White House-business if we want it to be,” Darcy countered, “And besides, I don’t work for the White House. I work for Bartlet, which means I have work outside the administration.”

“Oh, come on,” Hamilton scoffed, “Everyone at the Hill knows you work for him.”

“Because when I’m at the Hill, I actually _do_ work for him. Why else would I be there?” Darcy asked, entirely unconcerned as an angry red flush made its way up Hamilton’s neck. She had a knack for embarrassing self-entitled men, apparently. James was... Definitely not in love. He was _not in love with_ Darcy Lewis. Absolutely not - they hadn't even _talked_. He just liked her, as in he found her a pleasant human being. That's all. “Besides, I wouldn’t expect you to understand such complicated matters as nuances.”

The agents in the room shifted on their feet as Hamilton stared her down, waiting for his decision. In the end, he had to back down – too many witnesses there for him to charge her with something that’d never stick. It probably helped that James was subtly moving his hand, making the plates whirr. He’d discovered that people tended to find that intimidating, for some bizarre and _totally_ unknown reason.

“Dr. Foster’s been served.” He finally said, handing Darcy the slightly crumpled paper.

“On bullshit reasons!” Jane yelled as her patience finally ran thin, Thor holding her back so no one ended up with a finger in the eye. He looked apologetic about it, like he really wanted to watch Jane beat someone up. “This is _my_ work, and you have _no_ right-!”

“Why?” Darcy’s voice cut through the room like a whip, silencing Jane. “What possible reason do you have?”

James mentally updated his file on Lewis; he got inappropriately happy when she yelled, smirked _and_ made her voice go really quiet, but still extremely powerful. Hamilton didn't seem to be in the same position, and honestly - if that wasn't reason enough not to trust him, then what was?

“Withholding government property from its rightful owners.” Hamilton said, almost gleefully. James _really_ wanted to know what ‘Scorpion’ was.

“I see,” Darcy said, eyes skimming the paper in her hands. In the reflection of the window, James could see her frowning at the paper as she read, but the further she read, the more relaxed she got. “And just to be clear – you’re claiming the Einstein-Rosen Bridge as US property, yes?”

“Yes. We also claim several algorithms and machines.” Hamilton answered, looking increasingly anxious about Jane, who was almost vibrating with anger. Thor didn’t even try to calm her, knowing that it was futile.

“Okay.” Darcy said, smiling pleasantly. “We’ll see you in court, then.”

“ _What_?” Jane screeched, echoed by Hamilton’s own surprised, “What was that?”

“Court.” Darcy said calmly, silencing Jane with a look. “We’ll see you there.”

“Wha – _really_?” Hamilton stammered, looking like he couldn’t believe his own ears. To be honest, neither could anyone else in the room. Steve seemed disappointed; he always liked it when women yelled at men. Then again, James knew that already, thanks to the Serum and Natasha’s surprisingly piercing voice. It was the main reason James had moved into his own apartment so fast; again, _no one_ needed to know that much about their brother’s sex-life.

“Yes, really.” Darcy said, “I look forward to hearing the Attorney General argue for the rights of Dr. Foster’s intellectual property, almost as much as I look forward to hearing him argue that the US owns the Rainbow Bridge, even though it was created by forces we cannot even begin to fathom, and it’s operated and controlled by Heimdal. You know Heimdal, right? He’s an Æsir. Really important one, too.”

Thor nodded in agreement while Hamilton searched for something to say in order to save face in front of his agents. None of the agents seemed that sad to see him humiliated, so James couldn’t muster up much sympathy – if any – for him.

“Now, in this letter, you claim ownership of the Bridge and the algorithms and everything else because you say that the money Dr. Foster was granted five and six years ago lay the basis for the work she did in New Mexico, when we first made contact with Åsgård. That’s a whole other argument in itself, and one that I look forward to having, but I can’t help but wonder how the courts will react to hearing _why_ Dr. Foster even received that money in the first place.

“You know why, Hamilton, don’t you?” Darcy asked, not seeming to mind just how still Hamilton was standing. James told himself to get it together; he was a trained damn agent and he should not find this exciting or funny. He should act as the damn professional he was, and stop drooling over Lewis. “I know you’ve investigated the grant process, which means you’ve read the same emails I have; the ones where it’s made clear that Dr. Foster was granted the money as a joke, _an experiment_ , by people who wanted to see just what the – oh, what was it they called her? That’s right, ‘nutjob’. They wanted to see just what the _nutjob_ would do with the money.

“So even if you could prove that the basis of Dr. Foster’s work was laid with grant money – which you can’t because you can’t document _genius_ – what jury is ever going to take your side? You gave her thousands of dollars as a _joke_ , and at the time, that was the same as simply wasting money that could’ve gone to medicine or food for homeless shelters, or helping abused spouses get back on their feet.

“And now, now that there’s money in this – yes, I’m well aware you’re only after the Bridge so you can travel to Åsgård for their natural resources – you want her work.” Darcy sighed, looking at Hamilton with something akin to pity.

“You can’t win this case. Tell the Attorney General that it will only make him look greedy and shortsighted, which is not something he wants on his back come August. He wants to run for executive power, and he can’t do that if the Avenger and _Crown Prince_ Thor publicly denounces him, and one of the greatest scientific minds in history goes on the Daily Show and tells everyone how he tried to steal what she’d been working on her entire _life_ , even when faced with staggering amounts of misogyny and ridicule, and no one but her mentor and intern believed in her. And all of this, just for the natural resources of Åsgård. You know, if I hadn’t studied history, I’d have trouble believing it.

“But that’s a conversation for another day – what matters now, is that Dr. Foster’s work is a product of her mind, therefore it is her own intellectual property, and it is property I will fight tooth and nail for.”

Darcy stared down Hamilton as he searched for something to say, only looking away from him to send Jane a reassuring smile. Jane was teary eyed, looking at Darcy with so much love and affection that James felt like he was intruding on a private moment just by looking at her. Darcy looked away, only to sigh at the sight of a red-faced Hamilton, taking pity on him once again.

“Look…” She said, her suddenly soft and sympathetic voice a stark contrast to the tirade she’d just unleashed. “Do you really want to go up against me? I mean, you know it won’t work.”  
“I will bring your thoughts to my superiors,” Hamilton managed to say, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “I’m sure they’ll take your advice, Miss Lewis. You’ve always been an invaluable asset to the DNC.”

“Thank you, Agent Hamilton,” Darcy bowed her head in gratitude, and James just about managed to keep back a huff of laughter. He had no idea how she made a nod seem sarcastic, but somehow she did. _He did not have a crush on Lewis_. “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon enough.”

“Indeed.” Hamilton said, “Have a nice day.” He gestured for his agents to follow him, Hamilton moving like he was walking on stilts as they all followed him out the door. Nat nodded at James through the window, letting him know that she and Clint would follow them down and make sure they actually left.

“Holy shit.” Steve said in the silence that followed, “Holy shit, what the hell just happened?”  
“I’m with Steve here,” Sam walked up to Darcy, looking her up and down. “You’re so tiny, and yet so scary. How?”

“The shorter the person, the closer to Satan, Sam.” Darcy grinned, just before Jane pulled her into a bone-crushing hug that had Darcy wincing in pain for a split second. James figured that the Serum wasn’t all bad when it came to hearing after all, as he listened to Jane whisper, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” into the crook of Darcy’s neck. She just tightened her hold on Jane in response.

“Thank you, Darcy.” Thor said gravelly, his hand reaching out to squeeze Darcy’s shoulder. “We would be lost without you. Truly.”  
“Come on, Thor,” Darcy blushed, slowly extracting herself from Jane, “No big deal.”

“I beg to disagree,” Steve said, coming to stand next to James, who still hadn’t said a word. It was like a switch had flipped inside him, and suddenly his leg was on _fire_ , and it was like he couldn’t move it. Like it was melted to the floor. “That was amazing. You should be proud of yourself.”

Steve was being painfully earnest again - James was still working on a way to let Steve know that sometimes made people uncomfortable without hurting his feelings.

“Right.” Darcy said, flustered as everyone looked at her, clearly not used to the attention. James found that odd; he’d seen her stand in front of Congress with no trouble, and he knew for a fact that President Bartlet valued her opinion immensely. Surely she was used to larger-than-life figures looking at her? _And what was with the damn itching in his leg, what the hell?_  
“Everyone out. I need to brush up on some legal stuff, and I can’t do that if you’re all looking,”

“All right, fine, let’s get the superhero some space, please.” Sam said, leaning over to give her a quick sideways hug before beginning to usher everyone out of the lab.

Everyone slowly trickled out, saying their thanks as they went and promising her all the Toblerone in the world for saving them from a Class Red meltdown from Jane. Jane herself seemed reluctant to let go of Darcy, and still looked at her like she was all the good things in the world.

James would’ve left them to it, but his leg was practically buzzing now, and he swore he could _feel_ the blood pumping through his veins. He couldn’t move, both because he seemed unable to stop looking at Darcy and because his leg was literally frozen, bolted to the floor. He would have asked Thor for help, but he’d looked at him with this knowing glint in his eye when he’d left, and damn it, he probably had something do with this, didn’t he? Not the fire-y sensation, because that wasn’t like Thor, but the ‘bolted to the floor’ situation going on.

None of that explained how he could make it stop, because, okay, yes, _maybe_ , just maybe, he had a little crush on Lewis and didn’t want her to think he was a total creep who didn’t leave her alone when she clearly wanted to prepare for a trial that most likely wasn’t going to happen. And maybe, just maybe, the only reason he’d refused to admit that for so long was because he didn’t want Steve to be right, for the same reasons he didn’t want Rebecca to be right when she teased him about girls, even though he knew they were right. It was a sibling thing, impossible to explain.

But again, that didn’t help with the damn leg. He must’ve made a noise of frustration as he tried to will himself to move it, because Darcy looked up from the papers in her hands and sent him a teasing, but slightly concerned smile. “And what’s your problem, buttercup?”

His eyes widened as she spoke, and his mind made the sound-equivalent ‘!!!’, because the words matched those crawling down his thigh _perfectly_. It couldn’t have been more than a millisecond before it felt like something inside him slid into place, like something was just _right_. Not like everything was _okay_ right now, but like maybe they could be someday.

He wanted to tell her how much he liked her, wanted to make sure that if she really was his soulmate, her mark would be detailing just how amazing he thought she was, how much he admired her accomplishments.

He wanted to tell her that he was far from perfect, and that it was more likely than not that he never would be, but he would respect her and love her and care for her, if she wanted him to; if she’d let him.

He wanted to tell her that he began falling for her when she gave him her pancakes - no, when she went out of her way to make him his own stack. When he was so wrapped up in thinking about her that he didn't even notice she was behind him and that something like that never happened.

He wanted to tell her that and so much more, like how watching her yell at people was honestly the highlight of his day whenever it happened and that her bright lipsticks made him smile to himself when she drifted into his mind.

Sadly, that didn’t happen because all he could think about was her and every almost-interaction they've ever had and... Christ, had her eyes always been this blue? Was her lips always that full, that tempting when pulled into a teasing smile? No... No, because earlier he didn't know her. He still didn't, but he would soon, and _fuck_ she was just so close to perfection and his leg was burning and his mind was all over the place because she was there, she was _right there_  and -!  

“Right now, I’m fairly sure it’s a boner.”

He blamed Hydra for that answer, by the way. They really messed him up. Like, _really_. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who encouraged me, who commented and left kudos, who subscribed and bookmarked - everyone who read what I had to write. 
> 
> Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> These characters are not mine, and I do not get any profits from this whatsoever.


End file.
